Coming Home
by Everleigh Chance
Summary: Steve embarks on one last mission before going home, if such a place even exists for a soldier like him. Post-Endgame. One-shot.


He can't help but think that he's made a mistake by coming here first.

1970 is indeed the right place to be if his mission is to start from the farthest point in time that any of them went to retrieve the Stones — so 1970 it was, and in Camp Lehigh no less.

But as Steve stands outside the office — _her_ office — he just can't decide whether the hitch in his breathing is a good thing or a bad sign.

He stares hard at the golden letters painted on the opaque glass.

**MARGARET CARTER**  
**DIRECTOR**

_I shouldn't be here._

The Space Stone (or, rather, the Tesseract, as it was then known at the time) was safe back in the vault Tony had originally found it in, Steve had made sure of that after going through a ridiculous amount of trouble to avoid the lady from the elevator (what the hell even made her so suspicious of him Steve couldn't just fathom). His job here, in this year and place, was done. So why was he still here then, two feet planted firmly on the ground as he stood before the door of the woman he'd promised a dance with a long time ago?

Steve would have reached for the doorknob if one of his hands were free, but both were definitely full. In one hand, he holds the case containing the remaining five Infinity Stones; in the other, he grasps Mjølnir that is presently disguised as an umbrella — two glaring reminders that his mission is far from finished.

Before stepping onto the time-traveling contraption that Bruce had modified for this specific mission, none of this had felt like a burden at all. But now, with his heart roaring in his chest, why did own two feet feel too heavy when he tried to will them into stepping away from the door?

If he stares hard enough past the name that once felt like a prayer on his lips, he can see the silhouette of Peggy's dress-clad figure, quietly tending to papers on her desk, her red lips, Steve muses, perhaps curved into the ghost of a smile.

But her name, at that moment, just doesn't taste the same. Sweet as it always had been, there is now a bitter tinge to it. Maybe because it was because of the fact that he simply didn't belong with her and she with him, the vast oceans of time having separated them beyond the point of absoluteness.

Once upon time, Steve hoped that it would still be and Peggy at the very end. But the war came and another one followed it and more and more came until that hope faded into nothing but a mere dream, his biggest what-if. The ice melted, gods and monsters defeated, someone new came, vows exchanged, and Steve just had to learn to move on. To be happy for her. And he was, truly.

He simply had to learn to accept that there would never be a chance to give her the dance he owed her.

Until the chance, against all odds, arrived. And at that moment, it was staring right back at him.

In a half-dream, she once told him, "The war's over, Steve. We can go home."

Well. The war was over, wasn't it? He can finally go home.

But would there truly still be a home for him, a man out of time, with a woman who belonged in the past?

_I shouldn't be here, because I don't belong here. Not anymore._

The war was over, yes. But his mission was not.

And because Steve is a soldier, he takes a step back from the door. And then another. And another. He takes a step back until he feels seven decades apart from her again, not a mere seven feet. He takes a step back, thinking of his mission and nothing else. He takes a step back, confident that he's doing the right thing anyway, and because he knows he is no longer needed there. And it's alright, he thinks to himself, because this was no longer his life.

_It's alright._

Steve doesn't look back as he walks away, as he marches on.

* * *

_You've gotta be fucking kidding me._

Steve finally begins to doubt the wisdom of taking on this mission the moment he hears the unmistakable voice of his old foe.

"Steven, son of Sarah," the hooded specter welcomes in a husky voice that is far tamer than how the former Nazi used to sound.

In Steve's right hand, his clutch on Mjølnir tightens as above him, the dark heavens give a deep rumble. Clenching his jaw, he adjusts his stance into a defensive one.

Of all places and in one that was the farthest he'd ever been from home, Vormir was the last place he expected to see a familiar face, and one that should have been dead a long time ago as well. But as Steve takes in the sight of the... _thing_ in front of him, he starts to doubt whether the man who used to call himself the Red Skull can even be considered alive.

The wraith disentangles himself from the darkness, the blood-red of his disfigured face almost indiscernible in the shadow of his hood. If this being is truly who Steve thought he was, then the passing of seven decades had done nothing to alter his appearance. Aside from his tattered robe, Johann Schmidt looks exactly as he did when the soldier last saw him aboard the _Valkyrie_.

Steve swallows hard.

"Schmidt."

"There are no wars here, Captain," the wraith intones, eyes darting to the hammer Steve held for the briefest of seconds. "And no enemies either, for that name is no longer my own."

"And why is that?" Steve answers as his mind runs in circles trying to fathom how his old enemy winded up on a planet from another system seemingly alive and not having aged a day, and why he was saying the words slipping out of his mouth at the moment. Sure, Clint had oriented him about the Red Floating Guy who acted as a guide and guardian for the Soul Stone, but the archer sure missed mentioning that said being was actually the Red Skull. Steve can't blame him though, not when the wraith before him now only seemed to be a ghost of Johann Schmidt and was claiming the same as well.

"I doubt you came here for a story. No. You're here to return something," comes the former Nazi's reply.

"And are you here to take it after I do so?" Steve probes.

"Even if I wanted to, I would not be able to do so."

"No. You wouldn't," Steve agrees as the tension finally leaves his body and his grip on Mjølnir loosens. No, there would not be a fight between a ghost who had nothing to lose and a soldier who had nothing to gain. "So where do I put it back?"

"You would return the Stone even after the sacrifice that your comrade made?"

_Comrade._ At the word, a million pictures rise to the surface of his consciousness, a million memories filtering into place — Bucky, his best friend and brother in arms. Each and every one of the Howling Commandos. Colonel Phillips. Howard Stark. Tony Stark, Earth's Greatest Defender. The Avengers. Phil Coulson and his bloodied vintage cards. Fury. Natasha.

His heart clenches. Steve ignores it, along with the fact that out of everyone, he misses her the most.

"The Stone has served its purpose. We gain nothing else by keeping it, except trouble. Temptation." The last word, though it belonged to the Mad Titan, feels right on his tongue.

"Returning it won't bring her back."

"I know that," Steve answers plainly, truthfully. "We've tried everything anyway." A lie, even if the soldier doesn't know it yet.

But Schmidt knows, yet he only gives a small tilt of his head. "It seems that my post as Stonekeeper must resume then. Follow me."

* * *

Standing atop the summit, the cold wind is biting, harsh. Steve can no longer remember the last time he felt cold, but he does not care to recall, not when all he can think of is _this is where she fell_.

This is where they fought, the master archer and the super spy. There is no blood on the engraved rock beneath his feet to show for it but he knows, deep in his bones, that this is where it happened. The void before him, the empty, barren spaces stretching across for miles, seems to taunt him as he wonders what he might see if he so chose to step forward and look down.

Steve doesn't, not when he has looked into far too many abysses, enough for a lifetime. Not when he has watched too many fall, and the first of them had even been his best friend.

He thinks of the many times he's had to lose before he won. He's not sure though which fight of his can be compared to the one that was lost on this very summit, the fight that Clint lost and Natasha won. Steve knows one thing though — he's grateful that he didn't have to watch Natasha fall, a terrible price that Clint had to pay while Natasha's was her own life. Call it selfish, but when Tony's face still haunted his dreams, charred and broken and so near death...

It would have been just too much.

_Whatever it takes._

He is no longer holding the case or the hammer; instead, sitting in the clenched fist of his right hand, is the Soul Stone. Steve doesn't know if the Stone would be cool or warm against his skin, not when he has his gloves on. It is surprisingly light even for something small, something so small yet so powerful and _expensive_.

He doesn't come too close to the drop and he's careful to keep his eyes straight. Steve walks alongside the deep cut across the rock with small, deliberate steps. His eyes search the skies as he inches closer and closer to the void, and he keeps his chin up throughout his slow march until he can no longer find it in himself to move forward. Any closer and he's sure he won't be able to resist the urge to look down, and it's the last thing he wants to do when he doesn't know what he will see in the abyss — more of engraved rock, or the cold, broken body of a woman who had only wanted everyone to come home.

He wonders how many more have fallen before her in this timeline. How many more were lost and sacrificed in pursuit of the damning thing inside his fist. Then he realizes probably none, or else Clint and Natasha would have arrived to nothing. He doubts that anyone who had taken the Stone before would have returned it afterwards.

A sharp pain blooms in Steve's chest as he remembers her last words to the entire team, to the only family she'd ever known.

"See you in a minute."

They are the same words that escape Steve's lips in a whisper before he pulls his right arm back over his head, ready to throw the Stone back into the chasm.

But he doesn't. Instead, his arms drops to his side as a heavy exhale escapes his parted lips. Instead, he makes a split-second decision before he stretches out his left arm, fingers spread open.

In his mind, a stream of possible consequences plague his thoughts, with one of the worst being having to embrace death — for real, this time around. _No matter,_ Steve thinks, and he feels exactly as he did back when he was piloting the_ Valkyrie_ into the cold arms of what seemed to be death — losing. And it still doesn't matter, not when it means that the rest of the world would win anyway.

"What are you doing?" the crimson specter, his sole witness, broke the silence as it stood watching to the side as it had been doing so since they arrived at the summit.

Steve's fingers wrap tightly, purposefully, around Mjølnir once the hammer answers to his call.

"No more trading lives," he answers.

He then drops down on one knee and places the Soul Stone in front of him. He grips Mjølnir with both hands before raising it, and the heavens brighten and rain down lightning to greet the hammer in the soldier's grasp.

Steve feels the thunder sing in his veins before he brings down the hammer in one swift stroke.

The last thing he sees is a bright burst of amber light.

* * *

It is cold again, and it is the only thing that Steve is aware of for several long moments. The cold, the darkness, and the still water surrounding him.

He knows he is in shallow waters because he can still breathe; he is not fully submerged. There is something heavy in his right hand, but it is a familiar weight and he doesn't need to open his eyes to know that it is Mjølnir. Steve is now aware of several more things, including the fact that he was still very much on Vormir, but most of all that he was just not ready to see whether he had succeeded in his endeavor yet.

Steve then decides to keep his eyes shut for a moment longer. Until he becomes aware of the water splashing on his side anyway. That, and the possibility that he might be in a dream when he hears a familiar husky voice.

"Steve?"

A familiar face, hovering just a few inches from his own, is the first thing Steve sees when he finally opens his eyes, the same face that he'd been drawing from memory just nights ago, down to every speck of gold in her green eyes, the small blemish on her cheek, to every perfect detail.

Steve only remembers how to breathe again when her name finally finds it way to his lips; a wish, a plea, a prayer.

"Natasha?"

The soft soil beneath him and the soft swash of water as Natasha stands to her feet are details that don't go unnoticed as Steve latches to every sound and every sensation that makes it feel like it's all real. When Natasha stretches out her hand to him, Steve can't help but stare dumbly at it for a moment before he takes it, and she feels so _real_ that he doesn't think of letting her go until she pulls her hand away after she's helped him rise steady on his own two feet.

_Real._

His heart races as he becomes aware of one more undeniable fact. Natasha is alive.

She begins to scan her surroundings with sharp eyes, but Steve's gaze is only glued to her, half-afraid that taking his eyes off her for even just a second would make her vanish in the next, and he'd be proven wrong and left knowing that she was nothing but a figment of his imagination after all.

"So. This must've been what you felt, coming out of the ice."

His heart gives a stutter at hearing the comforting rasp of her low voice.

"Pretty much," comes Steve's quiet reply, strangled from the tightness of his throat because it was all simply too good to be true and yet it was true anyway.

When Natasha's eyes finally return to him, there is a hint of fear and confusion in them. "The Stone?"

"I... I destroyed it."

"What?" is Natasha's bewildered and strained reply, and before Steve can stop himself, he closes the gap between them and finds his hands holding her face in an instinctive attempt to comfort her.

"It's done, Nat. The war's over. Thanos is gone."

A beat passes. Natasha's fingers slowly latch on to Steve's before he becomes aware of where his hands are. When did he even do that? _Damn it_. Flustered that he might have made her uncomfortable, Steve makes a move to remove his hands when much to his surprise, Natasha keeps them in place.

He feels the flesh and bone of the lines of her jaw in his gloved hands, utterly and unmistakably real beneath his touch, and the knot in his chest unravels as breathing becomes easier for him.

"Did we get everyone back?" she asks.

Steve nods. "We did."

"So why am I back? I don't understand. It was supposed to be an everlasting exchange."

Natasha's reply catches Steve off guard, along with the hard look in her eyes. He barely notices Natasha finally pulling his hands away from her face as all he can pay attention to is the doubt marring her features and the painful twinge in his chest at the sight of it.

"Does it matter? Everyone came home, Nat. Why can't you as well?"

Steve watches the movement of her throat as she swallows hard before she nods her head, slowly.

"You're right," she then replies with a shaky laugh before her voice steadies once more, slipping back into the cool and self-assured tone that Natasha Romanoff was known to have. "I did it. No more red. I deserve this."

"Yeah. You do," Steve simply answers because there is nothing more to be said, and because his gratitude is just too much to be confined with words.

"What did we lose?" are Natasha's next words.

Steve knows there is no right way to sugarcoat the truth, to lessen the hurt, so his answer is as straighforward can be. "We lost Tony."

She shakes her head, switching her gaze into the distant horizon of the alien planet. "It's not fair." Her lips twist into a rueful line.

"Well, he did get his second chance. Five years with Pepper and Morgan," Steve answers with a soft chuckle. "Morgan's gonna have to grow up now without her dad though. It's... well, it is what it is."

"It is what it is," Natasha agrees with a sad smile.

"It should also be enough to push us to get a life though, don't you think?"

A laugh stumbles out of Natasha's lips. "You first."

"I just did."

He's not quite sure what prompts the words out of this throat, but Steve is sure of one thing — it was the truth. And he watches as Natasha slowly takes it in, from the small furrowing of her brows and how she returns her eyes to his as if to read him and see if he was telling the truth. Steve lets her, knowing she would not find a single trace of deceit or dishonesty.

"Clearly, you need to get a better life then," Natasha's reply finally comes, accompanied by small smirk playing on her lips.

"Is that a test?" Steve returned, arching a brow.

"Are you backing down, soldier?" Her hands leave his and travel north, until one stops on the side of his neck and the other on his shoulder.

"Never, ma'am."

He closes the gap between them as Steve bends, his arms encircling Natasha's waist as his lips descends on hers.

The last time they'd been in this position, it had been on an escalator and on the run. They had both stood absolutely still, lips frozen against each other like statues, far from a what kiss should be. But now, it was nothing short of perfect. Steve wasn't on another planet and the weight of the world on his shoulders didn't exist. There was only Natasha and the thing beating in his chest, loud and strong and euphoric, as his lips melded with hers.

He can't remember how long he had wanted to do this. All Steve knows is how he missed her so, _so_ much, and that having her back now felt like being back himself. No longer a man on a mission or the soldier fighting a war; he was simply_ him_. And he felt complete. He felt home.

When they finally break apart for air, Steve doesn't let go of Natasha and she doesn't step away. Instead, she leans her head against his chest as Steve does his best to stop his breathing coming out in short, quiet gasps. A chuckle from the woman in his arms reach his ears, and a million thoughts then run through his mind at that second, a million things that he could do just so he could hear that sound again.

Natasha falls silent for beat before speaking, "We really won, huh?"

"We did," Steve reassures her, resting his head atop hers.

_We won._

* * *

Author's Note: If they could give us Gay Joe Russo, they could have also given us the proper ending these two deserved. Don't forget to drop a review!


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